


A curse of Bad Luck

by Moira Bathory (Midnightsecho)



Category: Borderlands, TFTBL - Fandom
Genre: Bad Luck, Fluff, M/M, Or rather Jack appears a bit, Poor Rhys, Someone give the poor kid a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 22:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7333645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnightsecho/pseuds/Moira%20Bathory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhys just has one thing go wrong after another, and nothing he does seems to make it go away. He troopers through this curse of horrible luck with just minimal amounts of whining and complaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A curse of Bad Luck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlphaMercy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaMercy/gifts).



The day had started like any other for the first five seconds.  
Rhys woke up, opened his eye, and then somehow managed to fall out of bed, wrapped tightly in the blankets in such a way that he couldn’t get out. He looked like a worm, writhing to get out of his silken prison. A groan came from above, as Jack’s half-asleep face came into view. He seemed displeased with suddenly having the blankets pulled, but the scene at his bedside made him chuckle.  
“Need some help there, princess?” he asked Rhys, who glared half-heartedly.  
“I’ve got this,” he said. A moment later, his wiggling led him to hit his head on the nightstand, sending the lamp toppling towards him.  
Luckily, a hand shot out and grabbed it, before he got a face full of glass and lampshade. Rhys could feel himself go cross-eyed from how close it landed to him.  
“ Are you sure about that?” Jack asked, placing the lamp back where it was supposed to go.  
Rhys groaned in frustration.

His day continued much like his morning had. A hole in his favorite socks, spilling the milk when his robotic arm twitched -all over himself, no less- and finding that the clothes he put on afterwards had been thrown in the wash with a pack of gum in the pocket.  
It was gross.

“This is ridiculous,” Rhys grumbled, dropping his pen for what seemed like the third time that day. It rolled under his desk because of course it did, and he hit his head retrieving it because of course he did.  
He wanted to just lay down there for the rest of the day, under the desk, where nothing bad could happen.  
Or so he thought, up until someone bumped into his desk, spilling scalding hot coffee onto his back. The string of apologies didn’t make the pain go away, and the person retreated, effectively not doing whatever they had been there for.

That was wardrobe change number three and a half, as the next shirt Rhys tried to put on tore when he tried to put his cybernetic arm into it.  
At least it wasn’t his favorite, he thought. He needed to somehow stay positive. This weird bad luck curse would go away, right?  
It hurt to sit back down in his chair, with the scalding burn on his back. With a resigned sigh, Rhys stood instead as he worked, until he couldn’t stand anymore and went to sit down…  
Only to find that the chair wasn’t there at all.

“That’s it!” he shouted to no one in particular, pulling himself up from the floor.   
He was going to take his lunch break and probably not come back, storming angrily back to his apartment and slamming the door for what seemed like the millionth time that day (Even though it was only the second.)  
He could work from his ECHO, but Rhys was decidedly not moving from that spot on his bed.

This idea worked for a few hours. Sprawled out on his stomach, Rhys continued his work just like he would any other day, but on a significantly smaller screen that didn’t work nearly as well as the computer on his desk. Regardless, things got done as they were supposed to, until all of a sudden, his arm twitched and spasmed, then hit him square in the face.  
Blood leaked from his nose and onto his bed sheets. His arm just refused outright to work and Rhys, at this point, let out a loud scream of frustration- seeing as how there was no one around for it to bother. The nosebleed lasted a good twenty minutes of sitting in the bathroom. It finally stopped, and Rhys struggled to wash has face and hand with just the one available for use.  
He’d clean the blood from his covers later. Somehow. Right now, he debated heavily on curling up under them and avoiding the day or sucking it up, fixing whatever had bugged his arm up, and going back to work.

Ugh.  
Staying home without telling anyone would look really bad on him. Sucking it up it was, then.

A diagnostic found the problem in his arm which, fortunately, was easy enough to fix. He had it moving again perfectly in no time, and Rhys was very proud of himself.  
“At least I have that going for me today,” he said to himself, and made his way back to his office.

 

When Rhys arrived, there was something off about his desk.  
There was no coffee cup, no coffee stain. Everything was more or less the way it should be on a normal day, other than the extra things that had piled up in his absence.  
But there was a bowl sitting there, dead center, with some sort of sticky note.  
Rhys made sure his chair was actually beneath him before sitting down on it this time, admiring the gift left for him.  
It was a bowl of ice cream. Not just any ice cream, but his absolute favorite, topped with strawberries and chocolate fudge and… were those chunks of brownie? Wow. He dug in gleefully while looking at the note.  
Even the sticky note itself was special, evidently one of Handsome Jack’s personal sticky notes. Just that was enough to tell Rhys who the mysterious benefactor was.  
“ Noticed you’ve been having a horrible day. Got you your favorite ice cream…” It read, and, in smaller print, it said “You owe me.” with a great deal of lewd scribbles that had Rhys torn between laughing and groaning.

At least it made his day a lot sweeter.


End file.
